


An Ordinary Man

by fabricdragon



Series: Addams Family Crossovers [1]
Category: Addams Family - All Media Types, Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms, The Addams Family (1991)
Genre: Alien Culture, Alternate Universe, Bad Flirting, Crossovers & Fandom Fusions, F/M, Grief/Mourning, M/M, Matchmaking, Other, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Pining, Plot Bunny, This is ME writing this, Weddings, love interests, who knows how it will go
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-08
Updated: 2018-05-26
Packaged: 2018-09-15 16:09:24
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 7,634
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9243416
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fabricdragon/pseuds/fabricdragon
Summary: Begins directly after the graveyard speech by John Watson, after the  death of Sherlock Holmes.John corresponds with Calpurnia Addams, who invites them both to her wedding, and doesn't think being dead is a good enough excuse to miss it.





	1. A Funeral and A Wedding

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Sic Gorgiamus Allos Subjectatos Nunc](https://archiveofourown.org/works/198422) by [etothepii](https://archiveofourown.org/users/etothepii/pseuds/etothepii). 



John dragged himself home from the graveyard.  The flat was empty, of course.  It hadn’t had time to lose the scent of him, though.  He sat numbly in the living room, staring at the tea cups he hadn’t had the heart to put away.

At some point he fell asleep.

The rest of the days? weeks? went by like that: flat and grey, only occasionally flaring up into anger.

Mycroft tried to talk to him–had him picked up in a car, of course–and he’d punched him.  He half expected to be dragged off to prison, but Mycroft just looked at him sort of sadly.

“I knew you cared for him; I didn’t know how much this must be hurting you.”

“You’re a cold bastard, Mycroft.” He got out of the car and walked home.

The anger felt good, but it didn’t last: by the time he got home, he was just… grey. There was mail for Sherlock when he got there.  Most of the hate mail and jeers and so on got intercepted before it ever got to the flat, but some always got through:  most of it he could tell at a glance; but today’s mail had something unusual…

It was on rich stationery, and hand addressed in fine script.  The return address was in America, so probably someone who hadn’t heard…

John opened it.  It was a rather elegant invitation to a wedding‑ Calpurnia Addams to Hieronymus Mortensen‑ along with a handwritten note.

“Cousin Sherlock dearest,

It’s been ages, and Calpurnia has utterly demanded your attendance.  I know the English family doesn’t travel overmuch, but surely you won’t disappoint darling Calpurnia for her WEDDING?

Ophelia”

 _Oh dear God, they don’t know_.  John thought about throwing this over at Mycroft, but it was addressed to Sherlock in specific, and….

He got out some of the good stationery and carefully wrote the woman a letter, in which he explained that Sherlock had passed away quite recently;  he included his phone number and email.  He put it in the post the next day.

 _Weddings… well, life does go on._   John hoped the news wouldn’t cast too much of a pall over Calpurnia’s wedding day.

He got a letter back a week later from Calpurnia Addams, addressed to him and to Sherlock.  He stared at it for a while before he decided to open it. Inside, he found a letter that read:

“Dear Doctor John Watson,

(Or is it Captain still, now that you are retired? Do forgive me, the English rules are so different.)

I was so sorry to hear about cousin Sherlock.  I know he was having so much fun being a detective. You must be that blogger friend he was so sweet on.  Please do come to the wedding, I’d love to meet you.  Bring Sherlock if he’s alive again.

Calpurnia Addams

P.S. You’ll stay with the family, of course!”

...and two plane tickets: First Class.

He honestly couldn’t come up with anything to even think about that. He finally decided that the entire Holmes family, and all of its branches, were mad. He wrote a note  on a London postcard explaining that he thought it… unlikely… that Sherlock would  be “not dead” anytime soon.

He got a postcard back from Maine saying it was quite alright, Sherlock was like that, and he should come by himself and get introduced.

John hadn’t intended to have anything further to do with it, really he hadn’t, but then he saw more of Mycroft’s people pretending to not be on guard and he just had to get away _.  Away from the flat, away from Mycroft, and AWAY._

And he had the ticket.

He really should show up with a wedding gift. He remembered that Sherlock had purchased an expensive soup tureen, intending to break it for an experiment. It was still in a box in the closet: he went and got it down. _A bit dusty, but still wrapped in ribbon: wonderful._

John packed his things and got on a plane to America. It was a long flight, but he’d never been First Class, and it was so VERY much nicer than he normally traveled.  He transferred planes in New York‑ that was a nightmare‑ and got on a much smaller plane heading to Maine.  America was apparently bigger than he had anticipated; the maps always looked smaller, he supposed.

There was a limo driver waiting for him at the airport: _a rather unsettling looking fellow, really_.  If he was still in London- if he was still working with Sherlock- he would have assumed it was a trap, or a plot; but as it was, it was probably just something very American. The driver only spoke the bare minimum needed and John found himself dozing off in the car.

They pulled up to a house that looked like someone had tried to recreate a movie set for a very big-budget horror movie.  The driver picked up his bags–John hand carried the tureen– and walked him up to the door.

It was opened by a stunningly good looking woman, who bore a striking resemblance to Sherlock, with her pale skin, long neck, sharp cheekbones, and jet black hair.  He couldn’t help but gasp slightly.

“Well, Hello…” Her accent was so very flat-sounding to his ears. “Like what you see?”

“My-My apologies, you… you look so much like Sherlock, you must be related. I’m Doctor John Watson.”

Her entire demeanor changed abruptly from seductive and dangerous to curious and friendly, “OH!  Oh you’re cousin Sherlock’s?”  She looked him up and down thoughtfully,  “I had you pictured differently from his description. I’m his cousin Titania.” She reached out and dragged him in. “We were hoping you’d come! Sherlock was never going to let us meet you, you know… afraid we’d scare you off!”

“Uh, Sherlock died recently, I’m not sure–“

“Pssht! Of course he did, anything to get out of a family obligation,” she said, waving it off.

“I- I brought a gift? Sherlock had purchased it... before he died, and I–“

“Oooh?” She looked shocked. “He DID?”

“I don’t think it was for the wedding, but…”

“CALPURNIA!!!! Sherlock’s fellow is here!” she shouted up the stairs.

There was a sound of someone  scrambling, and a blonde girl came running down the stairs, fell, tumbled down five of them, and sprang immediately back to her feet before John could do more than gasp.  She ran up and threw herself at John.  “OmygoshyoumustbeJohnWatsonItssowonderfultomeetyou!”

“Uh…Hi?”

She took a deep breath. “I’m so glad you could come, I wanted to meet you but Sherlock said you were ordinary.”

John blinked a lot. “Um... well yes, I suppose I am… ordinary.” He winced faintly, “At least compared to Sherlock.”

Titania took the box from him and put it on a table piled up with presents. “However did an ORDINARY person ever manage to live with him?” Titania asked curiously. “I tried once, you know, and my roommate left screaming after three days.”

John smiled faintly, “I was tempted a few times– it was either that or strangle him.”

Calpurnia just hugged him. “Next time, strangle him. He’s my cousin, and I love him, but he is SUCH a jerk. Once you told me he was going to try to duck out of my WEDDING I sicced Cousin James on him.”

“But he’s dead…” John said, looking back and forth between the two women: Calpurnia looked baffled; Titania just looked pitying at him.  _Oh, Calpurnia must not be coping well._

Calpurnia looked brightly up at him, “You’re in time for supper, come on!”

“Shouldn’t I wash up?”

“Oh! Oh yes, how rude, I’m sorry…”

Titania smiled, “Come on, then, I’ll show you to your room.”  She led him upstairs.  _The house was peculiar, to say the least._

“It’s a pity Sherlock didn’t make it; he would have loved it here.” He noted the deformed skeleton in a display case.

“He did,” Titania nodded. “He used to come for summer break all the time.”

“Explains where he got the skull décor then.”

“Oh, that’s just the family,” Titania said, nodding.  She opened a door to an ordinary enough looking room. “There are two beds, but you can push them together easily enough.” She nodded, and left.

“What?” he asked, but she was already gone.

“Damn strange people, MUST be related to him.” John washed up, changed into something a bit more presentable, and went back downstairs.

There was an enormous table–he hadn’t seen anything like this since Buckingham Palace– half-filled with people.

_Really strange people._

“Um... hi? I’m Doctor John Watson…” They were all looking at him with a mixture of curiosity and frowning confusion.

Calpurnia bounced up. “This is SHERLOCK’s fellow!”  Everyone seemed to recognize him then.

“Oh, I hadn’t expected to meet you, then,” said an older fellow, quite distinguished with a scar down one side of his face. “He wouldn’t introduce you when we were in London.”  He shook hands with the man, frowning in confusion.

“I’ve met his brother Mycroft, of course, and briefly met‑“

“Well, you met cousin James, didn’t you?” Calpurnia asked him brightly.

“No… sorry?”

One of the other people, who was wearing a truly spectacular vintage gown, said, “I thought… I thought Sherlock’s young man was… uh…”

Titania  said quietly, “He’s rather ordinary, I think.” She escorted John to a chair. “Might want to keep some of the family recipes away from him.”

“I don’t want to be any trouble.” John looked confused. “I don’t have any allergies…”

Another of the  men, who had a rather wolfish appearance– the shaggy hair added to it– just smiled, “Right, no arsenic or  cyanide for him!” Everyone laughed.

John chuckled, “Oh? So you’re familiar with Sherlock’s old habits then? I always had to be so careful with the refrigerator; the man kept  the damndest things in there. One time, I went to get out some cake and found eyeballs–“ He  flinched, expecting to have ruined their conversations.  It was always easy to say the wrong thing about living with Sherlock and then ruin an evening out.

No one even batted an eyelash.

Calpurnia just laughed, “Oh well, you know, Sherlock.” There were several nods and agreements, then they were serving dinner.

American food was WEIRD, especially lobster, and the octopus-stuffed chicken was bizarre, even if somewhat tasty.  As expected, everyone talked about the wedding, and the expected guests. No one corrected Calpurnia when she insisted that Cousin James would drag Sherlock along, because he promised.

It would have been the most surreal conversation he’d ever had, but… it wasn’t, somehow. It reminded him of Sherlock, and he had to excuse himself early and go up to his room.  It was a sort of comfort, and a sort of pain.

He finally got to sleep, listening to people downstairs singing some songs that sounded like tunes Sherlock hummed sometimes.


	2. Give me a hand here

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Well, he did RSVP

John spent the next day getting a tour.

The town had a bookstore– selling used and new books– and an old herbal and apothecary shop, as well as a number of artisans.  Apparently the community was well known for the artists in residence; a lot of the artwork was very odd, but John knew he wasn’t the connoisseur.  He noticed that some of the townspeople avoided him, or avoided Sirus Addams who was escorting him. 

“I hope you aren’t too uncomfortable, John,” Sirus said, when one sales clerk abruptly left when they went into a shop. “I’m afraid some of the locals always think us rather odd.”

John smiled, “They always said odd things about Sherlock, too.  You don’t seem that strange. In fact it’s… it’s been nice. I miss Sherlock.”

Sirus looked sympathetic at him. “Well, the Holmes side is more closely related to the Frumps… like Titania?”

“Yes, I noticed the resemblance.”

“I know the Frumps and the Amors tend to marry out a bit more, but even so… it’s… difficult.”

“Is it?”

“Well… yes.” He sighed. “Ordinary people– not you of course, but most of them– they just…” He looked sad.

“Bad break up?”

He muttered, “You poison one‑“ and cut off.

“Sherlock poisoned me once.” He thought about it. “Three times.”

“Really? And you didn’t leave him?”

“No.”

“He’s an IDIOT for letting you go, then: I’m going to tell him so when I see him.  After all the trouble we have finding people, to run off on you like that? It’s CRIMINAL!”

“Uh... I don’t know what you were told, but… he died.   He… he was forced to kill himself to save my life, and several other people’s.”

“Well he could have come back and said something,” Sirus grumbled as they pulled back up to the house, where there was another Limo pulled up. “Anyone who doesn’t run off after you poison them three times? That’s a marriage proposal in my book!”

John was trying to figure out what the hell he could mean when they walked into the foyer.  He heard Calpurnia’s cheerful voice, “I got your present, but I waited to open it until you got here!”

And then a voice saying, “He sent a present? That seems unusually thoughtful of him?” _It couldn’t be, that voice couldn’t be…_   John stumbled into the other room and stared.

Calpurnia was standing there  as if everything was perfectly normal, talking to Jim Moriarty, who  had a large redheaded man holding a trussed and gagged Sherlock Holmes.

Sirus pushed past John and without a moment’s hesitation punched Sherlock in the face.

“Sirus!” Calpurnia scolded. “Manners! Let him get his coat off first!”

“You can’t poison a man three times and just RUN OFF on him, Sherlock!”

Moriarty looked over puzzled and said, “What? What are you talking about?” Then his eyes locked on John, still standing rooted to the spot, and he looked shocked– an expression John had never expected to see on the man. “Johnny?”

There was a sudden struggling noise from behind Sirus, and Moriarty waved at the fellow to put Sherlock down.

John walked forward in a daze.

Calpurnia, looking utterly confused, asked, “I thought you hadn’t met Cousin James?”

“Cousin…? James?” John asked weakly, then collapsed to the floor, only to find himself staring at alarmed blue eyes. “Sherlock? You’re alive?”

Sherlock was saying something through the gag. Sirus reached down with a knife and cut it off. “You’re a real piece of work, Sherlock, dumping a guy like that.”

“John?” Sherlock’s voice, if hesitant. “What on earth are you doing here?”

Calpurnia stomped her foot. “I INVITED him, when he wrote to tell us you were dead.  He’s a very nice man and you OBVIOUSLY do not deserve him!”

“Well no, he doesn’t.” Jim sighed, “I do.”

“WHAT?!” John looked up. “Wait, you’re dead too…  What the HELL?!”

“I may be dead,” sniffed Jim, “but I RSVP’d at least.”

Calpurnia hugged him, “Of course you did, James.” She kicked Sherlock‑ John flinched reflexively, although Sherlock didn’t seem to notice much‑“You were going to skip my WEDDING?!”

“John…” Sherlock seemed to be trying to look anywhere but at him, “I’m sorry, I was trying to keep you safe…”

“You were DEAD!” John yelled suddenly.

“Well, uh, yes?” Sherlock  fidgeted. “I would have come back, but you were in danger…”

“From HIM!” John pointed at Moriarty. “Who is ALSO not DEAD!”

“Hi, Johnny!” Jim said brightly. “Please do tell me you’re breaking up with him? I’m much, much more fun!”

“Sherlock! James! You made it!” Titania swept in and hugged Moriarty.  She glared at Sherlock, “JOHN has been a very POLITE guest.”

Sherlock winced, “Please tell me no one’s poisoned him yet?”

John stared at him, “Wait…” He looked at Titania and Calpurnia. “Do you mean the joke about the Arsenic and the Cyanide?”

“What joke?” Calpurnia said blankly.

“John… my family isn’t exactly safe…” Sherlock said, straightening his nose with an audible crack, from where Sirus punched him.

Sirus snorted, “He said you poisoned him three times, and then you ran out on him.”

Titania gasped, “Sherlock!”

Sherlock flinched. “Two of them were accidental…”

Jim stared at him. “You poisoned him three times?  Why didn’t you TELL me you were ENGAGED?!”

John sputtered, “What?!”

Jim pulled himself up straight. “John Watson, did my cousin Sherlock ACTUALLY poison you thrice?”

“Well, uh, yes… at least that.”

“I would NEVER have been flirting with you if I had known you were engaged!”

“Flirting?” Then he processed a bit more. “Engaged?!”

Calpurnia looked baffled, “I thought he said he didn’t know you?”

Sherlock said, “He didn’t know we were RELATED.”

“WAIT!” John howled. “Since when am I ENGAGED? Can someone explain this?”

Jim stared at him and then rounded on Sherlock, “You CAD! You poisoned him thrice and didn’t even give him a ring or a grave plot?”

Titania was looking disappointed at Sherlock.

Sherlock shrank in on himself. “He’s… He’s not like us.  They run away.  I didn’t want him to run away… and then you were threatening to SHOOT him. Ordinary people DIE if you shoot them!”

“Do they?” Calpurnia looked a bit puzzled, but then it seemed to be her default state.

Sirus nodded, “Yes, they do… and they STAY dead.”

“Really? Why? It sounds dull.”

“WHAT ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT?!” John shouted, using full military voice as well.

Jim looked at him, “Sherlock has been trifling with your affections, Johnny.”

“I have NOT!” Sherlock snapped. “I was trying to keep him away from the family so he wouldn’t run off– or get killed– and trying to keep your snipers from shooting him!”

Sirus folded his arms. “Well you know, after the first time you poisoned him you could have explained; but by the THIRD time, not explaining things is pretty obviously just stringing him along.”

“I give up,” John said, collapsing into a chair. “I have no idea what’s going on.”

He saw a hand holding out a tea cup to him and took it. “Thank you‑“ And stared… because it was JUST a hand….

John fainted.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> as a reminder, i am an old school geek: i grew up on the cartoons. i own the collected cartoon sets from the New Yorker, spent my childhood watching the TV show, and own copies of the movies....  
> i draw elements form all of them.  
> plus it's Maine, Steven King ville.


	3. Taking Advantage

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock is the normal one in the family?

John woke up in his bedroom.  He stared up at the ceiling for a long while, vaguely aware that someone was sitting next to his bed.

“Sherlock?”

“Yes, John?”

“There was a disembodied hand that gave me tea.”

“Yes there was, mostly. That one isn’t entirely disembodied, the body just isn’t quite HERE…”

“Did you drug me again?”

“How could I have, I only just got here!” Sherlock said, sounding huffy.

John turned his head to see Sherlock chained rather thoroughly to a chair next to the bed.

“Why are you chained to the chair?”  John checked himself: _Yes, I’m still dressed and no, I’m not restrained_.  He sat up.

“Because they’ve all decided that I’ve taken advantage of you,” Sherlock said grumpily.

“YOU HAVE!” John bellowed at him. Sherlock flinched.

“Yes, well, I didn’t see it that way. I was trying to protect you.”

The door opened and Jim Moriarty walked in.  John scrambled backward against the bed.

“Johnny! I heard you yelling, so I knew you were up.  Tell me what my brute of a cousin has said; I’ll cut out his tongue for you.”

“Oh, God… No, please don’t hurt him!”

Sherlock muttered, “It wouldn’t hurt.”

“It could,” Jim smirked. “I’m good that way.”

“Leave John alone!”

“Leave me alone? Leave Sherlock alone!” John shook his head, “What’s going ON!?”

Jim pulled up a chair and sat down. “You really have no clue, do you?  You lived with my cousin for that long…” He glared at Sherlock. “You do NOT deserve him, and I should steal him from you for his own good.  He may be a bit thick headed, but he’s cute, and a good shot.”

“Stop it, just stop…” John rubbed a hand over his face. “I don’t believe I’m saying this, but someone untie Sherlock, and I need an explanation.”

Jim unchained Sherlock. “He’s not allowed in the room with you without a chaperone,” Jim said smugly. “Now that everyone knows how he’s been behaving.”

“What, keeping eyeballs in the fridge and leaving arsenic-coated biscuits lying about?”

“Those were from Mummy,” Sherlock muttered.

John stared at him. “You said it was an experiment!”

“Well… How could I explain that Mummy sent me arsenic-coated biscuits?”

“WHY would your Mummy be sending you arsenic in your biscuits?” John stared at him dazedly.

“She thought I was getting too much color,” he muttered.

“It’s true, you know,” Jim said thoughtfully. “Your side of the family really doesn’t cope with sun.”

“You two… are related?” John rubbed his forehead again. “And trying to kill each other.”

“It wasn’t anything serious,” they both said: Jim happily; Sherlock sort of sullenly.

“Until…” Sherlock sighed, “Until he kidnapped you.”

“Well how was I to know he MATTERED?” Jim snapped. “He’s just ORDINARY, after all.”

“You didn’t ASK!”

Jim stared at him. “I EXPECTED that you would TELL me if any of the stage props were off-limits!”

Sherlock looked pained at John, and then down at his lap. “I didn’t know.”

John stared at him. “What?”

“I hadn’t thought about it. I hadn’t thought about you REALLY getting hurt, not really… not until the pool.”

Jim stared at him. “You daft idiot.” He smacked Sherlock upside the back of his head.

“Why did you let me think you were dead?” John finally managed to ask.

“We’re… John, you don’t get it. I’m one of the most normal members of my entire family, and I STILL almost got you killed by accident.  I needed to find Jim and tell him to leave you alone, and I wanted to make sure Mycroft didn’t decide to do anything…”

Jim pursed his lips thoughtfully, “Oh dear. Yes, Mycroft.  He… he wouldn’t LIKE you having a relationship with one of them, would he?”

“No.”

“Mycroft tried to hire me to spy on you!”

“That’s different.” Sherlock sighed, “Mycroft doesn’t believe in mixed marriages; he’s old-fashioned that way.”

“Mixed… marriages?”

Jim shrugged, “You lot, and us.  Don’t expect ME to explain it; MY branch of the family married out all the time.”

“What are you saying you ARE?”

Jim snickered, “Well, in Ireland they usually said we were faeries, or firbolg.  Giant kin? Aliens? Angels? Demons?” He shrugged. “The Frump branch usually gets called incubi, succubae, or vampires…”

John looked over at Sherlock, at his pale smooth skin, cheekbones, and his collar turned up… and started to giggle a bit hysterically. He managed to stifle it into hiccups.

“Incubi? Wouldn’t you have to, oh, be married to something other than your work?”

Jim walked over and trailed his fingers down John’s arm. “I am completely married to my work, and I could still have an affair or two.”

John was trying to flinch away when Sherlock’s hand snapped out over Jim’s wrist.  Jim just smirked at him.

“Sherlock­– Sherl–  If you aren’t trifling with him– and you AREN’T dumping him– then make a commitment and get on with it, because otherwise?” Jim’s eyes actually glittered faintly. “He’s still just a piece on the board, and if I want to take him? I can.”

“He’s a GUEST, James, at a family wedding, with ME.”

“True.” Jim smirked, “So I won’t touch him while we’re here, but you better make your mind up. Clock’s ticking… Now go shoo and apologize to my about-to-be-closer relative: she’s still upset I had to drag you to the wedding.”

Sherlock got up and glared at him, then looked worried at John. “You’re a guest, of my family and mine.  He CAN’T touch you without your consent.”

He walked out.

John expected Jim to follow him but he just closed the door and sat back down on the chair.  John was having uncomfortable flashbacks to bomb vests and pools.

“So, Johnny boy, either he’ll get jealous enough to actually make a commitment, or he won’t, but I’ve done all I can.”

“You’re saying that was… to make him jealous?”

Jim snorted, “Given his family, and his brother, especially? He’s having fits admitting to himself that he’s fallen for someone Ordinary.” Jim gave him a look that made him feel positively filthy. “I, of course, am much more uninhibited, but then I’m from a different family, really.”

John tried to scrub the dirty feeling off of himself. “You’re saying that you think Sherlock cares about me and can’t admit it?”

“Basically.”

“I’m not gay.”

“Oh, Honey, it doesn’t matter. You’re only marginally the same gender; you aren’t even the same species.” Jim smirked, “If you fall for one of us, you may be a lot of things, but nothing as simple as being GAY.”

Jim looped an arm through his and pulled him out of the room. John tried to get loose, but it was just like at the pool: Jim was astonishingly strong.

“Come on down and meet the family, Johnny.  And if Sherlock is too stubborn to admit he wants you? Well, don’t you worry: Daddy has plans.”

 


	4. Party food

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> seriously, Sherlock never eats enough

John found himself once again sitting down–next to Sherlock, this time–surrounded by the most astonishing array of people. They were having little sandwiches and dips and…

“Sherlock?”

“Yes?”

“Please tell me those aren’t REAL fingers on the snack tray?”

“Would you believe me?”

“No.”

Someone who looked dead–and, while John was not a pathologist, he was fairly certain he could recognize a dead body when he saw one; if it was make up, it was extraordinary–came by with a tray of snacks and drinks.

Sherlock picked out a few things and handed them to John. “Those should be safe for you.” He picked up a few different hors d’oeuvres for himself and made delighted noises as he bit into one.

Titania wandered by. “Enjoy them?”

“They’re quite good, thank you,” John said, still looking warily at a tray with FINGERS on it over on the side board.

“Oh, God, yes,” Sherlock said. “Who made the nightingale and arsenic pate?”

“Aunt Ophelia, of course.” Titania looked at Sherlock thoughtfully. “You haven’t even been eating properly.”

Sherlock muttered, “Everyone says that.”

John spoke up, “He scarcely eats at all, says eating on a case inhibits his thinking.”

“Sherlock Holmes,” she said tightly. “You are from one of the purest branches of our family, and you KNOW what happens if you don’t eat properly! You’ll get too hungry and kill someone they’ll MISS.”

Sherlock winced in the direction of John.

“You…” John glanced at the finger tray, which fortunately seemed to have been removed. “You EAT people? Oh, God, all those body parts in the ‘fridge?”

“No, I don’t eat people… like that… much,” Sherlock muttered. “And the body parts were for experiments, I told you that.”

James swung by at that point. “Ta darlings! Time for the Groom’s side to be off!”

Sherlock blinked, “Oh, yes… Sunset.”

“Tradition, you know!” James ran a hand in an overtly sexual fashion down John’s neck.

Sherlock hissed, “Get your hands off him!”

“Tsk. Make up your mind, Cousin,” James smirked, cried “TA!”, and swept out.

John scrubbed at his neck. “Why does he have to leave by sunset? He never cared in England?”

“Tradition. He’s on the Groom’s side of the family–in fact, he’s the Best Man–so he can’t stay at the Bride’s house until after the wedding.”

“Oh.”

“We’ll be expected to go to the Bachelor party, I suppose.” Sherlock made a face.

“We certainly will!” Sirus said firmly, “And you bring John. The Mort side of the family is a lot better with Ordinaries, you know that.”

“Are… Are Jim’s relatives likely to kill me or strap me into a bomb vest?” John asked nervously.

“What… Wait, why are you…?” Sirus stared at him.

Sherlock muttered, “Jim put him in a bomb vest.”

Titania suddenly looked at John with awe, “They’re FIGHTING over you?”

Sherlock grumbled, “I hadn’t said he was off limits at that point.”

John winced, “Can someone tell me what this family thinks is ‘flirting’? Because it looks a lot like bloody trying to kill me, to me!”

“There’s a reason I didn’t want to introduce you–“ Sherlock was muttering when there was a chorus of “Uncle ITT!” and a… a… a pile of hair came in–with a hat and glasses–along with a woman, a smaller pile of hair, and a small child of indeterminate gender.

John closed his eyes. “Sherlock?”

“Yes, John?”

“The… The pile of hair?”

“Is Calpurnia’s uncle Itt. Itt Addams. And he’s here with his wife? Oh, that’s wonderful! You can talk to her: she’s Ordinary too!”

“The woman… married to that–“

“Itt.”

“Right…” John rubbed the back of his neck tiredly. “She’s like me?”

“Yes,” Sherlock nodded.

John got up and walked over. “Hi! John Watson, pleased to meet you, and… your husband.” John held out a hand, not at all certain it wouldn’t be ripped off.

The pile of hair bowed at him and made high pitched noises. The woman giggled. “Pleased to meet you!” she said cheerfully. “I’m Margaret Addams and this is my husband Itt. Please don’t let my husband’s sense of humor put you off.”

“Uh… No, of course not. I’ve lived with Sherlock: it takes a lot to put me off.”

“Sherlock?” she asked, and then her husband made a lot more chattering noises. It sounded questioning toward the end.

“OH! The English side of the family?” She looked him up and down. “I thought they were… um… rather bigoted?”

“Yes, well, apparently that’s been part of the reason Sherlock didn’t tell me much. I… I only just found out…” he waved at the rest of the gathering. “All of this.”

“Ooooh…” She leaned down and whispered something to her husband, who nodded. “Come with me.”

They ended up in a small sitting room, within earshot of the party but otherwise unoccupied.

Margaret smiled sadly at him, “How much do you know?”

“I just found out my flatmate isn’t dead, after mourning him. His enemy, who was also dead, is the Best Man at the wedding, and apparently the family thinks poisoning me is flirting?” He sighed. “I’m… rather at a loss.”

She patted his shoulder. “Coffee or tea?” She walked over to a beverage set up.

“Tea, if you can.”

“Certainly. Never trust the sugar bowls, by the way: it’s usually arsenic.”

“I haven’t taken sugar from an open bowl since meeting Sherlock.” He paused. “Come to that, I think it might have been arsenic, the first time. It was cocaine the second time.”

“Cocaine?” She came back with tea, cream, and packets of sugar. ”Heavens! As if anyone in the family needs stimulants!”

He sipped at the tea. _It wasn’t English, but it was tea._ “Bless you.”

She giggled. “My former husband was a lawyer for Gomez Addams. I met Itt at a party, and… well.” She blushed. “How did you meet Sherlock… Holmes, is it?”

“A mutual friend told me he knew someone looking for a flatmate… it was a non-stop whirlwind ever since, really.” He hesitated. “I wasn’t thinking anything romantic, just two blokes sharing a flat… and Sherlock was never interested.” He sighed. “And then he died, or I thought he had.”

“You… might want to sit down and talk with him about that. Itt, for all he doesn’t LOOK Ordinary, has a very good grasp on the culture.” She sipped her coffee. “Most of the others don’t really. I doubt I would have adapted half as well if I hadn’t had such a wonderful person helping me.” She looked at John thoughtfully. “The family… well, if they get someone Ordinary who can cope, we tend to get pressed into service as translators.”

“I can see why.” John sighed. “This whole thing is… There must be some word beyond ‘confusing’.”

“Well, which side of the family is Sherlock from?” She frowned, “Or which side does he take after, do you know?”

“Everyone keeps saying he’s a Frump?”

She frowned, “Like Morticia, then? Or Titania?”

“Yes.”

“So… Um… Yes, well, that makes it a bit more…” she looked around thoughtfully, “awkward.”

“I doubt very much it can get more awkward.”

“The Frumps are the vampires.”

“Jim said they were called incubi or vampires,” John said slowly. “They have the look for it.”

“Well, I mean I mostly know Morticia… but I believe her side of the family needs blood… and they don’t cope with sun very well.”

John sagged. “He kept body parts in the fridge. I believed him when he said it was just for a case,” he stared into his cup, “every time.”

Margaret patted his hand. “So he hasn’t bitten you or anything?”

Sherlock’s beautiful baritone came from the doorway. “Of course not. Despite what the family seems to think, I’m neither stringing him along nor taking advantage of him.” Sherlock sniffed. “Besides, it would be messy: I drink bagged.”

John looked up at Sherlock, really LOOKED. _He was thinner than he had been before his death, as pale as he had been when we met, and his eyes were brighter, almost electric; in fact… they almost seemed…_

Sherlock looked away, and he blinked and grabbed the chair arm.

“Hmmph.” Margaret snorted. She got up and poked Sherlock in the chest. “You need to sit down and talk to him.” She looked him up and down. “You ALSO need to eat better! Even a Frump shouldn’t be that thin!”

“I just ate at the party,” Sherlock muttered.

John sighed, “If he’s being typical, that was probably the first food he’s had in days.”

Margaret sighed, “Take him into the kitchen and see if they have any bagged blood. Given that Titania is a Frump, they probably do.”

Sherlock winced. “I’ve been trying to keep John out of this.”

John stood up and grabbed Sherlock’s wrist. “Fat lot of good that’s done. Fine, instead of tea and toast I have to force you to drink blood? Figures. Only you could be an anorexic vampire.”

“I’m not anorexic! You shouldn’t diagnose people like that–“

“Not listening,” John snorted.

He tried not to notice Margaret waving cheerfully at him as he dragged Sherlock out. He refused to admit he heard her say they were a cute couple.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> with a brief appearance by Grandmama and Wednesday Addams.
> 
> (please be patient with me my proof reader has been ill)

When they got into the kitchen there was an old lady muttering over several pots on the stove…

“It’s not done yet!” she screeched.

“Pardon, we’ll just be–”

“He hasn’t been eating and apparently needs bagged blood?” John interrupted Sherlock and decided to get right to the point.  If they were all like Sherlock then there was no point in being vague.

“Oh?” the scraggly haired old woman waved over a younger woman who had been standing unnoticed in the corner, “take over!”

“Yes, Grandmama.”  The woman came over and stirred, “Hullo Sherlock–you look terrible.”

“Wednesday,” Sherlock sighed, and then ‘grandmama’ was over poking and prodding at Sherlock.

“Let me see your teeth!”  She snapped, Sherlock reluctantly opened his mouth and let her poke and prod at him. “Hmph!  You’ll lose your fangs if you don’t start watching your diet! See if you don’t!”

“I drink bagged,” Sherlock muttered, “it doesn’t matter.”

“Hi? I’m John Watson…”

“He’s Ordinary,” Sherlock said hurriedly, “and a guest.”

The old woman muttered something John couldn’t understand, but Sherlock winced and Wednesday–if that was the woman’s name– giggled.

John determinedly continued, “Sherlock hasn’t been eating right–ever, actually, since I’ve known him– but apparently he needs blood?”

“There’s some in the crisper drawer,” Wednesday said continuing to stir something, “unless you want to get into Titania’s stash–it’s hidden behind the lettuce.”

Sherlock actually perked up at that, but said, “I really shouldn’t”

“She’s the one who told you to eat, right?” John  asked with a raised eyebrow.

“Well… yes?”

“Then go get one of her … uh… what’s so special about it?”

“AB positive,” Sherlock mumbled, “it’s … chewier.”

John just dragged a hand over his eyes and tried to remember how damned glad he was that Sherlock was alive. “Do you drink it straight? Err… cold?”

“I… can, but we usually heat it up… body temperature you know.” Sherlock said hesitantly, “are you SURE this doesn’t bother you John?”

Meanwhile Wednesday had pulled out a bag of blood and was rather carefully pouring it into a mug. “Give it a minute.” She said setting the mug into a pot of warm water.

“No, it doesn’t… bother me, it’s just strange: It’s not even the strangest thing I’ve dealt with with you!.” John said and then he crossed his arms and glared at him, “You letting me think you were dead, THAT bothers me.”

“I…” Sherlock fidgeted and glanced at the two women–the old woman was ignoring him and muttering into the pots, but Wednesday was snickering at him–“it’s more complicated than you understand.”

“Then you can get your blood and sit down somewhere and bloody well explain it!”

Wednesday snickered some more, but eventually Sherlock had a big mug of body temperature blood–and John had tea– and they retreated to a quiet room in the house.

Sherlock used drinking the blood as an excuse not to talk immediately. John would have complained but he rather figured getting Sherlock to eat was more important and he could wait him out.  Sherlock drank very, very slowly.  John sat and looked at him over the tea.

“Finally done?” John asked as sweetly as he could manage.

“Yes.”

“Good. Talk.”

“I was terrified you would run away… I … I never had anyone… who liked me–outside of the family I mean.”

“You do take a bit of getting used to, yeah.”

“And then… then I didn’t know how to explain any of it.”

John nodded, “alright, I can see that… I CAN, this is strange… but why the hell did you let me believe Moriarty was… he put me in a BOMB VEST, Sherlock!  He KILLED people!”

“Yes, well… that’s… that’s why it’s so hard to explain.” Sherlock finally sighed, “Most of the family simply doesn’t understand that Ordinary people… they’re fragile…”

“Ordinary people die when you do that, and they stay dead…?”

“Exactly. We… don’t always.”

“I suspect Jim knows EXACTLY how fragile we are.” John grumbled.

“Oh, well… yes… he just doesn’t CARE.  I mean, about most people.  He likes some.  Apparently he likes you… he’s uh… not safe.”

“No shit.”

“He… he’s one of the family that deals more with Ordinaries, but that doesn’t mean he’s safe… anyway we… we set up a game–criminal versus detective.  We both went off to establish our roles… so I wouldn’t know what he was up to and he wouldn’t know about me… and… then you walked in.”

“Because you needed a flat mate!”

“… Because Mycroft didn’t approve, so he wouldn’t release the trust funds.  So I needed a flat mate.” Sherlock sighed. “...and… you mattered, and I didn’t know how to tell Jim without making it worse…I tried to call off the game…”

“But?” John looked firmly at him. “YOU are weaseling. You tried to call off the game? Then what happened?”

Sherlock sighed, “I tried to get Mycroft to help, and he did… a little… but he didn’t approve of  the situation anyway and mostly went back to ‘I told you so’ a lot, and unfortunately he got cousin Jim’s back up, which just made it worse…”

“so since he’s your COUSIN and you KNEW each other,” John emphasized, “why didn’t you just call it off?”

Sherlock squirmed under the determined questioning, “Well, I was worried–he did threaten you…”

“uh huh…AND?”

“…and it was fun as long as you were safe.”

“So you didn’t call it off because it was fun, and when it STOPPED being fun? When you threw yourself off a roof in front of me?! Then what?”

“Mycroft was extremely unhappy about the whole thing, and I thought he might hurt you; and cousin Jim was angry at me  and I thought HE might hurt you; and I had no idea how to even explain any of this to you even if… even if nothing else happened.” Sherlock was looking anywhere but at John, “so I left to start taking apart Moriarty’s network, getting rid of the snipers on you…keeping everyone safe.  It wasn’t just you he had snipers on: he had snipers on Greg and Mrs. Hudson as well.”

“uh huh… and you were going  to tell me you were alive when?”

“…probably never.” Sherlock admitted very quietly.

“Why?!”

“I was afraid of losing you.” Sherlock looked up and sighed, “I would rather have had a memory of having a friend, than deal with you being afraid of me, or hating me.”

John opened and closed his mouth trying to figure out how to respond.  Eventually, “Sherlock… I dealt with all of this… without you even having briefed me.”

“Well, yes… yes you did, and I’m amazed and… I’ve never heard of ANYONE taking it this well!”

“... But I guess you couldn’t predict that, could you?”

“No.” Sherlock shook his head, “the number of good relationships between a… what’s that book series you like call an Ordinary? A ‘muggle’?”

“Yeah, but I’m getting used to ‘Ordinary’, go on.”

“The number of relationships between one of us and  an Ordinary in any given century that worked–by which I mean the Ordinary isn’t dead, insane, or in hiding somewhere within a year– can be counted on two hands… even if you only have ten fingers.”

John looked around the room at the peculiar decorations, and considered the people… “It’s a lot to deal with–bet it was worse back in the more superstitious days.”

“Usually… for one of us to manage a relationship with an Ordinary… we have to live in their society–and we stand out.”

“I’d noticed.” John said drily, “YOU stand out.”

Sherlock nodded, “and cousin James and I… we both deal in your society more than most.”

“Hell even Mycroft is pretty odd, now that I think about it.” John considered, “did he get a lot of his behavior from like… old movies? Because the kidnapping people and taking them to a warehouse thing is sort of trite…”

“I have no idea, but he works with them–Ordinaries I mean– every day.  He’s one of the family that helps…cover for the rest of us.”

John closed his eyes and considered, “Arsenic… poisonings… not staying dead… some of you look pretty odd… you WOULD need people in government, wouldn’t you?”

John didn’t hear anything and opened his eyes to see Sherlock staring at him with a look of wonder on his face, “you are utterly brilliant, John.  Do you know how few people understand that?”

John got up and walked over to sit down next to him, “No wonder he was so odd after you died.”

Sherlock froze, “…What?”

“He had me picked up in a car of course…” John saw Sherlock nod slowly and went on, “and I punched him”

“You what?” Sherlock  nearly whispered it.

“Punched him.” John sighed, “Didn’t even do a good job of it really.”

“What did he do?!”

“Nothing, just looked sort of … sad I guess, and said he had no idea your death would hurt me this much.”

Sherlock sagged back on the seat, “Did you see him again?”

“No. I think he was paying the flat rent for you though.”

“I doubt it.” Sherlock said bitterly, “I’m just glad he didn’t have you disappeared.  I suppose it would have attracted too much attention if you vanished or died after all this.”

“Look… everyone else in this insane family of yours seems to think it’s alright for us to be… engaged or whatever they think we are… why would it be such a problem with Mycroft?”

“The American side of the family has always been a great deal more liberal,” Sherlock sighed, “Mycroft is extremely conservative compared to them.”

“Noooo….” John said sarcastically rolling his eyes, “I NEVER would have guessed.”

Sherlock smirked faintly, “What you don’t realize is that he’s quite liberal compared to a lot of OUR branch of the family.”

“Wait… really?”

“Yes.  He works with Ordinaries, he even… well he tolerated my sharing a flat with you–I can’t say he liked it, but he tolerated it. “

“That’s LIBERAL?”

“Compared to our parents?  Oh certainly.”

“…are they still… you never mentioned them.”

“They don’t come in to London.”

“oh… so Mycroft handles all the family stuff in London.”

“He handles all the ‘Family” stuff,” Sherlock said emphasizing the word. “By which I mean all of it–Morts, Holmes, Frumps,  Addams, all of it.”

“And he doesn’t approve, as you said, of mixed marriages.”

“no.” Sherlock shook his head, “No, he doesn’t.  he may be very liberal compared to some, but… no.”

“And everyone here already thought I was your… boyfriend or fiancé or something before I even arrived… based on what you’d told them about me…”

“John… I know this… this might …” Sherlock took a deep breath, “Would you marry me?”

John thought about it.   He honestly seriously thought about it.  Sherlock could tell he was considering and just sat there with the most absurdly hopeful look on his face.

John sat and thought for a while. “I’m still not gay.”

“…I know.” Sherlock’s voice wavered.

“But you’re my best friend.”

“What?”

“You’re my best friend, and I could hardly bear it when I thought you were dead.  I came to the wedding partly to get away from London–because I couldn’t stand being where we’d been and… you were gone.”

“I’m… I’m sorry John.” Sherlock looked down at his hands, “I was selfish… and afraid… and I didn’t want to lose you but I also didn’t want to see you hurt…”

John finally took a deep breath, “As far as your question…”

“Yes?”

“Not yet.”

 


End file.
